Tag Archives: gameplaying

When I first subject you to the silent treatment the effect on you is devastating. You repeatedly try to contact me and speak to me to find out what is wrong. What has caused this sudden dropping of the shutters when only the day before we were lying in bed together as I told you how I was so pleased to have finally found the one? Your need to know is so great that it completely overrides any sense of embarrassment or decorum on your part. You call my phone again and again and again. You call my work phone repeatedly but find my secretary (one of my loyal lieutenants) will block you by explaining every time that I am in a meeting. You will call around at my house. I can see you through a gap in the blinds as you hammer on the door and then pace backwards and forwards, frustration and confusion writ large on your face. The text messages pile up. My email inbox begins to bulge and you start shoving letters through my letterbox. I do actually read them as they give me a magnificent sense of importance as I read your questions.

Inevitably the tenor of your attempts to contact me alters. From starting with questions such as “What is wrong?” and “Is something the matter?” you then begin to examine yourself. You query what you might have done to upset me and cause this cessation. Without fail, every time I have deployed this weapon, you have scrutinised yourself to such a degree that you eventually find something that could have caused my reaction. You do this, demeaning yourself, because you need to have an answer as to why this has happened. You must. If you cannot get an answer from me then you turn on yourself and find it there. “I’m sorry I didn’t cook your steak the way you like it” or “I’m sorry I left without kissing you” or “I’m sorry I used the last of the milk and did not replace it”. Then come the promises to make things up to me if I will just get in touch. The promises not to do it again and to be a better person. The pattern is the same every time ; demand an answer from me, find an answer within yourself and then show contrition and desire to improve. Once you have passed through those three stages then I know you have become indoctrinated with the way I want you to think and then and only then will I end the silence. Well, perhaps, another week won’t hurt me will it?

0

Advertisements

Share this:

Like this:

In one of our sessions Dr E asked me to tell him what one of my favourite games was. I replied that he was presuming that I played games. He apologised and asked me what was one of my favourite things to do. I replied that I enjoy playing games. He started to sigh but managed to stifle it (that reminded me of an ex-girlfriend Becky, she used to do that a lot. She was quite sensible as she knew that sighing infuriates me. It suggests boredom. How can anyone be bored with me around?) and then asked what one of my favourites games was. I said I did not have a favourite game because I only played one game. He nodded and asked me what it was.

I explained that I love to confuse people. He invited me to elaborate. I was happy to do so. I explained that I derived enjoyment from seeing people bewildered and perplexed. I would, for example, accuse them of ignoring me. They would protest and explain that they had been regularly texting me. I would point out a gap between the texts, say of fifteen minutes (which is an eternity when I am waiting for a reply) and show that as clear evidence of them ignoring me. They would frown and state that I had not been in contact with them for a week and that was ignoring somebody. I would then tell them they were trying to pin their own problem on me and that they would regularly do this, that it was hurtful and if they loved me, as they said they did, they would not behave in such a way. I would explain therefore that they must not love me. They would then protest that they did love me yet maintain they had not ignored me. I would accuse them of hypocrisy and walk away. A quick glance over my shoulder would confirm to me, by the puzzled, anguished expression on their face, that they were indeed confused.

Alternatively, I might arrange to meet someone for dinner and then not show up. They would call me and ask where I was. I always ignore the first two telephone calls. On taking the third and listening to them demand to know where I was (because their temper was rising at this point) I would calmly point out that they had got the date wrong, that I was engaged elsewhere (although I usually was not) and why had they interrupted what I was doing to chastise me for their mistake? They would at first insist I was wrong, but I would calmly explain that I was not. How could I be wrong? I had another engagement and therefore would not have agreed to meet them for dinner when already engaged. I would feel that rush of excitement as the doubt crept into their voice. This encouraged me. I would then point out that they were clearly having some kind of memory lapse, probably bought on by excessive drinking and I would counsel them to moderate their consumption and indeed seek help. In some instances (Samantha was a prime proponent of this) she would shout and lose her temper. I would explain then that I could not deal with her when she was like this and not to call me until she had calmed down. I would then end the call and bask in my delight. It sometimes got even better when others would apologise and the piece de resistance would be when they would meekly say “Sorry, you might be right.” Bullseye! I would remind them I always am and would then let them end the call with another apology.

I spent three hours taking Doctor E through my many derivations and variations of this game. He only interrupted me when his secretary reminded me that he had another appointment. He was clearly fascinated to learn about this game that I play. After his secretary had exited the room he looked at me and asked me if I had a name for this game. I confessed that I had not (which irked me as he had found something I had not thought of) and I immediately raced through my mind a variety of names I might attach to my game. Before I could settle on one, Dr E told me had a name for it. I was curious (although I feigned disinterest by saying nothing) and waited. He said nothing.

“Well, what is it then?” I snapped, irritated by his dilatory response.

“It’s called Gaslighting.”

I nodded. I had a name for my game. I liked it but I didn’t thank him, he has probably seen it as a name of a shop or a book and pinched it. His type is a flagrant pilferer of other’s ideas. I didn’t muse on the source of the appellation, the important thing was that my game now had its own name. Gaslighting.